


Not Fair

by scribblingfangirl



Series: the witcher reader inserts [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29105979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblingfangirl/pseuds/scribblingfangirl
Summary: Person A and B have a red string of fate on their little fingers. It tightens up when they are looking at each other, making it feel as if there is a pull on the finger. However, only one of them can see it and is not able to talk about it to their soulmate.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion & You, Jaskier | Dandelion x Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion x You, Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion/You
Series: the witcher reader inserts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135562
Kudos: 5





	Not Fair

**Author's Note:**

> [this is an older piece of mine] I apologize if some of this might be off, my knowledge is based solely on the TV series and the bits of information I found on fandom pages and Witcher Wikipedias. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this first piece of scribbling I did after years of only writing for high school and university. It might sound a little bit academic from time to time. And just be plain weird, please, bear with me!

You both grew up in neighbouring houses in Lettenhove. Your parents were ‘good’ friends, as noble people usually are, always mingling around each other, spying, fake-laughing, and holding each other accountable. This meant that you and Julian were able to spend time together too. 

Even back then, when you were still young enough to be able to run around the garden in nothing but your undergarments without getting judgemental looks from your mother, as this, later on, would not look good anymore for a noble young lady, you had this little red string on your little finger, that connected yours to Julian’s. Of course, you didn’t know what that meant. 

Still, you went through thick and thin together, without the slightest mention of that string. Soon the scenery of your playground changed from your gardens to the streets of the town. People knew you both and knew you were a package deal. If one of you appeared the other wasn’t far away. You were each other’s shoulders to lean and to cry on and you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

However, that wasn’t the whole truth. You did ask him once, in the early beginnings of your friendship, if he felt the pull on his finger as well, whenever you were near him or if he found the red string just as fascinating as you. The only response you got from him that day was a puzzled look and you swore to never talk about it again. It would take a few years for you to find out, that you wouldn’t be able to do it a second time anyway, no matter how hard you tried. 

It was when Julian started to receive his early education in a temple school and you were getting a training worthy for a noblewoman at home when you found out about the true meaning of the red string. “The first thing you ought to know,” your mother had said when she sat you down for your first lesson, “is the tale of the red string of fate. The two people that are connected by the string are supposed to be destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.” Astonished you had marvelled at the red thread around your finger and when your mother saw your facial expression, she quickly added, “however, only one of the two connected people is able to see the string and some greater force out there forbids them to talk about it. Not that you should worry about this my dear, your father and I already have a promising future prepared for you! After all, it is just some silly old tale!” 

As much as it was a silly old tale for your mother, it wasn’t one for you. You started to hear a lot about the myths and listen to the tales people told each other and you were over the moon. How lucky you were to have your best friend as your soulmate! The one person you could always count on! 

On the day Julian finally returned from the temple school, you stopped by his house to tell him about your luck. Though, just as your mother had warned, the words didn’t want to leave your mouth. It was as if you just forgot what you wanted to say as soon as you opened it, even though your mind was screaming at you to finally say it out loud. So, instead, you invited him to the ball that would be held at your house later that week. An event none of you actually wanted to attend, which Julian pointed out to you and you just muttered something about having changed while he was gone and that it was expected from a noble young lady as you looked down to your hands and examined the red string. He softly grabbed your chin and tilted your head up, so that he was able to look into your eyes. The feeling that emerged when you looked into his blue ones, that might as well had something to do with the pull on your finger you had almost forgotten during his time away, painfully reached your heart. His usually light blue eyes were darker, full of new, and to you unknown, information about the world and felt farther away than ever. How could you have known that that would only be the beginning of the end for you? 

Neither you nor Julian were very popular among your peers in the town and none of you ever made a lasting impression during past social gatherings or balls that were held or visited by your families. Which is why it came as a surprise to both of you when suddenly Syrena de Stael, the daughter of the visiting Earl de Stael, asked Julian to dance with her. Of course, as the gentlemen he was, and the additional scrutinizing glare of his mother, he couldn’t say no to her. How you then ended up knocking a young suitor for yourself to the floor, after he started a fight with Julian, thus allowing the latter and Syrena to leave without being disturbed, was, however, beyond you. 

Shortly after that, it became official. Julian declared himself in love with the Countess de Stael and your time as his best friend came to an end. Sure, he still considered you his best friend, but you started to spend less and less time together. Syrena here, Syrena there. That was, after all, the Julian you knew. Once he had an obsession, a fleeting thought of a possibility, he couldn’t stop chasing it. In the end, you were only able to meet as long she was there too, so, after some weeks, you didn’t saw each other anymore at all. 

Before losing contact, however, you had asked him if he thought that Syrena and he were meant to be. “Yes, I think so. I love her, what’s more to want than that?” he had asked back. Your soulmate was the small and simple answer. He had laughed. Laughed the laugh you missed so much that it had hurt your heart hearing it again after such a long time. “That’s just… shit. I’m sorry Y/N, but you can’t actually believe this? I mean, come on! One sees the red string, but can’t talk about it? If you can’t talk about it, how come everybody knows about this tale, this myth? And if you can talk about it to other people, how come soulmates don’t tell their friend or families who their soulmate is, and they pass it on? No, it just can’t be real! Syrena is my love and I don’t need fate to tell me that.”

You had just nodded, he had a point after all. You had felt the pull on your finger one last time and had suppressed your tears after he had said that, trying to smile at him. To implement his suggestion now, telling your family or friends that he was your soulmate, would have been clearly futile now. He wouldn’t have believed you, or them, and might have possibly gotten angry at you. 

After some days, however, you started to feel how the string pulled at your little finger, regardless of how close you were to him. It pulled you towards him and you asked yourself once, after weeks of feeling the pulling if he felt it too, but you knew it to be hopeless. The string became longer and longer, but it never lost its pull and strength, until one day you woke up and saw it laying on the floor, tied loosely to your finger. That was the day Julian left to study at Oxenfurt University without saying good-bye. It was the first time you let yourself cry over Julian Alfred Pankratz. Additionally, it was the last time you would ever call him by that name and it was the day part of you turned into nothing.

You didn’t see him, or anything of Lettenhove for that matter, for years after that. While he went on to study, you went travelling around Redania and then the whole Continent, after learning more about this ‘promising future’ your parents had prepared for you. You left your noble life behind, taking the odd job opportunity here and there, which mostly consisted of helping out in taverns, and it gave you enough coin for a more or less comfortable journey.

Jaskier, as he called himself now, after quitting university life and pursuing his musical talents, never left your mind. It hurt that you missed him so much, but every time you thought that the string must have finally snapped, you looked at your hand and it was still there, giving you the faintest feeling of hope.

Then how you met him again. He passed through the village you were currently staying in, his Witcher friend in tow, though it might just have been the other way around and played in the tavern you were currently working at. He looked the same, not a day older and was wearing a colourful, unlaced doublet and his undershirt slightly unbuttoned, letting everyone get a peek at his soft chestnut brown chest hair. 

He saw you as he went to get himself some ale after his performance and invited you for a drink after your shift ended, an offer which you stupidly enough gladly accepted. Talking and laughing together was almost like during the good old times, hadn’t it been for the fact that almost all he talked about was his travels with Geralt and the way he missed the Countess de Stael. That night you ran up into your room and slammed the door, screaming at nothing and everybody at the same time, ignoring the fact that the other guests, and even Jaskier, might hear you. You grabbed the gods forsaken red string and hoped to pull it off your finger, so it wouldn’t remind you of your sad fate anymore, as some things obviously wouldn’t change. 

Again, years passed after that fleeting encounter in which you didn’t even hear of him, as you went as far as leaving every tavern, place and social gathering at the slightest mention of the word ‘bard’. Or at least, you did the best you could to avoid any possibilities. 

As fate would have it, however, you met Jaskier again. He had walked into the tavern in Cintra you were in, this time as a guest rather than a barmaid. You had just gained a new job offer, protecting Cintra from the inevitable attack from Nilfgaard and wanted to drink what was possibly the last ale in your life.

At first, you didn’t even realise that you were looking at the face of your soulmate as he took a seat at the bar, straight in front of you, his lute thrown carelessly at his feet. Then a little breeze caught the red string and pulled at your finger and you heard his voice, so miserable, so broken. You drowned the last of your drink, wanting to forget this image, not wanting it to be the last memory you remembered of him as you went into this war.

Jaskier had wandered into Cintra in the hopes of meeting Geralt, knowing that he couldn’t keep running from his child surprise, from his destiny. Hearing your voice as you thanked the barmaid and passed her coin as payment, before grabbing your belongings and exiting the tavern without acknowledging him in the slightest, wasn’t part of his plans. He didn’t know how long he was staring after you, but it was only the hand on his shoulder that brought him back to the present. “My friend,” said the barman, “you do not look like a soldier to me. Run as long as you still can. Get out of here.”

As useful as that advice might have been, everything that happened afterwards was a blur to Jaskier, but he knew that it was too late. It was dark and yet ghostly shadows were dancing across the walls and the streets due to the growing fires, accompanied by horrific screams and the gruesome sounds of clashing swords. Villagers were running around, and he had just been pushed into a narrow back alley when he felt a pull. A pull he first felt when he was a little kid running around in his garden, a pull that was always there when he heard Y/N’s laugh or saw her sparkling eyes. A pull that disappeared for a long time before reappearing that time in the tavern.

His heart sank and he forgot about the whole situation around him, about the attack on Cintra, his search for Geralt, about the Nilfgaardian soldiers that were still running around. He just felt a pull and looked at his hand. There it was, a beautiful and delicate red string wrapped around his little finger, pulling him out of the narrow alley… pulling him to you.

You were laying in midst of the chaos, soldiers, as well as villagers, scattered around you, some breathing, some not, an arrow in your chest and you were groaning in pain, eyes closed. With a sob he sank to his knees beside you, softly touching your fragile and trembling form, moving your head to rest on his knees, afraid to hurt you even more. Gently he rested his forehead against yours and it was at that moment, blame the gods for their wicked ways, that he remembered the one question you asked him a long time ago. “Do you feel the pull around your little finger as well, whenever I’m near you? Do you find the string fascinating too?”

“Yes”, he started to sob, feeling your body react to his voice, but not caring if his sudden outburst made any sense to you, “I do feel the pull whenever I’m near you sweetheart, I do! But now it’s too late! How could I’ve been so stupid?!”

His breath was warm against your face and the fear and pain that you should have been feeling vanished the moment his sweet voice reached your ears. “Shh, shh. It’s not,” you croaked, breathing shallow and opened your eyes. While trying to smile, your hand automatically searched for his, but you were too weak to move, nonetheless, feeling a faint pull too. “It’s never too late. At least we now know how it works. How people found out about the myth. The death of one means freedom and knowledge for the other.”

“No,” he lifted his head, his hair glued to his sweaty forehead, not breaking the eye contact you established earlier. “No! I don’t want freedom and knowledge if it means to have a life without the possibility of having you in it!”

“Then save me.”


End file.
